


can't get you close enough

by virgoboy



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Come Swallowing, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, chan likes sexy, minho cares for chan, minho is sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29856123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgoboy/pseuds/virgoboy
Summary: He’s leaking confidence when he stands up, eyeshadow glittering over his eyelids and his lips stained a deep pink. His bangs are parted in front of his forehead, brown locks perfectly sprayed into shape.He sticks his tongue out when he catches Chan staring again, and Chan flinches a little, playing it off with a smile and a shake of the head, but all he’s hoping is that Minho won’t turn around…And then it happens: one of the other members calls his name from across the room, and when he turns, the mesh covering his back is directed at him, revealing his smooth skin underneath.(Or, Minho looks a little too good in his stage outfit, and Chan is a little too weak-minded to think about anything else.)- based off the Stray Kids "My House" cover stage on SBS Gayo
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 2
Kudos: 118





	can't get you close enough

**Author's Note:**

> had a moment while watching the stage... so *poof*
> 
> i did very little proofreading so apologies in advance for any errors ;-;

Chan literally can’t resist the sight of Minho like that.

He really needs to keep his self-control… to himself.

They’ve just left the dressing rooms, Minho being the first to get dragged into the makeup chair by the stylists, and suddenly it’s just wave after wave of other people’s hands all over him, in his hair, dotting at his face, adjusting his blouse.

That blouse.

It isn’t fair.

Minho knows he’s staring by now, having caught his eyes in the mirror more than three times, but he hasn’t shown anything close to a reaction. He’s way too caught up in this mobile game some of the other boys got him into.

Chan doesn’t know how he can be so relaxed, especially before a performance. Maybe later he’ll go over some steps, but this is also choreography that they’ve all known for years, even if the memory was vague for a few. He wouldn’t need to overpractice today.

He’s leaking confidence when he stands up, eyeshadow glittering over his eyelids and his lips stained a deep pink. His bangs are parted in front of his forehead, brown locks perfectly sprayed into shape.

He sticks his tongue out when he catches Chan staring again, and Chan flinches a little, playing it off with a smile and a shake of the head, but all he’s hoping is that Minho won’t turn around…

And then it happens: one of the other members calls his name from across the room, and when he turns, the mesh covering his back is directed at him, revealing his smooth skin underneath.

Chan quickly averts his gaze, putting his head down on the table in front of him and shielding himself from the light with his arms. His face is terribly hot even when the AC is blasting in the waiting rooms, and the adrenaline running through him isn’t reminiscent of the usual pre-stage jitters. It’s the want—the need—to somehow get Minho alone.

He doesn’t say anything to him—yet. However, it seems like he doesn’t need to when Minho plops himself down on the couch next to him, dangerously close. Chan doesn’t have to look up to know it’s him. His mere presence is enough. And he smells too good, body doused in expensive cologne that makes it all the worse for Chan to keep himself calm.

“Channie,” Minho says playfully. “Is there something wrong?”

_ Please go away. _

“No, nothing, my head just hurts a little.”  _ Please come closer. _

“Do you need an aspirin? Or try to eat something sweet, maybe that’ll help.” Minho places a hand on his thigh, and even though he knows there’s no ulterior motive in the action, he catches himself flinching again.

_ Please keep touching me… _

“I’ll let the stylists know to leave you for last then, okay?”

Then he’s dragging his hand off his leg, much to Chan’s dismay, but at least he’ll buy him some time to clear his mind. Or to make things worse.

The temperature only keeps rising as the moments pass, brain going back to visualizing Minho’s hand on his thigh and wondering how it would be if he were to inch it a little further north…

Sick. He’s sick.

Without a word, he leaves the waiting room and the overwhelming amount of people inside in search of a restroom where he can splash cold water on his face. He really needs to get it together. There’s no way he can go onstage like this.

The nearest restroom he finds is far down the hall, and when he walks in he’s surprised to find it’s only built for one person, no stalls and a single mirror right in front of him.

It’s better this way. He doesn’t need someone walking in to question why he’s trying to coax himself out of insanity.

He heads right toward the faucet and turns it on cold, instantly cupping his hands to catch the water and throw it back into his face.

The first time only helps to break him out of the daze a tiny bit, and the second time even more, to the point where all he can think is  _ Damn, this shit is freezing,  _ and he’s starting to find solace in the fact that it seems to be working, but then when he comes up he sees the door open in the reflection and—

Minho is standing there, halfway inside and holding a bag of pills, slight concern on his face as his eyes go everywhere before they find Chan’s.

“Sorry to barge in, but I’m not sure you heard me knocking… are you alright, Chan?”

Chan doesn’t realize it, but he’s panting, water dripping from his forehead down to his chin where it clings until it falls to the floor.

“I… I’m fine, Minho, really.”

“Are you sure?” He fully comes through the door, letting it close behind him as he moves closer. “Someone got me some painkillers to give you, you should take them.”

Instinctively, he brings up a hand to his forehead, and clearly the water didn’t help as much as he thought it did when Minho’s eyes go wide. “You’re burning up. You can’t perform like this, I’m going to go get the manager and tell him–” He’s already pulling away, heading toward the door again when Chan stupidly acts on the urge to grab his wrist, the bag of pills falling from his grasp as he suddenly turns, mouth open as he stares back at him in shock.

“You don’t need to tell anyone anything,” Chan whispers harshly. It’s a tone he almost never uses with anyone and Minho is well aware. All he does is nod and doesn’t say anything else as he’s crouching to pick up the painkillers, Chan standing in the same place and watching him until he’s slowly rising again to leave.

He freezes for a moment as he’s straightening, but Chan doesn’t think much of it, and he almost audibly sighs in relief as Minho sets his hand on the doorknob.

But then he… locks the door?

And comes back toward him?

_ Wh…? _

“Hyung, I can… I can help you with your headache.”

_ Hyung?  _ “Minho, I don’t actually…”

“You don’t have to take the pills,” Minho says, “or eat something sweet. I think I know what you need.”

“I’m really fine, Minho—”

“You’re not.” Chan can’t understand why Minho is ignoring him nor comprehend where the hell this is going because he’s way too close—until he feels Minho’s hand brace around him over his pants. “Don’t lie to me, hyung.”

_ Oh my god. _

All he can let out is a small, strained grunt when Minho moves his fingers a bit. He can’t help but feel overwhelmed, not only by the placement of his hand but also by the proximity of their faces, mere centimeters from each other.

“You… you don’t have to, we can’t be in here for too long,” Chan says, though everything in him is screaming the opposite. He doesn’t move away, for one.

“What is it?” Minho says. He’s adamant about not breaking character for some reason. “Do you think it’s stress?”

“You could say that.” Chan shakes his head. “We really should get back.”

Chan is about to determinedly stride past Minho, almost feeling like he’s in a room with the devil and having to prove himself resistant of temptation, but Minho is too quick to grab both his arms and pin himself against the bathroom sink, the sheer mesh of his top once again in Chan’s view through the mirror.

Minho is leaning in close, breaths curling around Chan’s ear as he whispers. “It’ll be a while before they start looking, but let’s make it quick.”

Even when Chan’s lips are quivering, the pressure of Minho’s on his is irresistible, plush and a little sticky from the lip gloss his lips are doused in. In the back of Chan’s mind, he’s worried about how the stylists will catch on to the noticeable difference in makeup once they return, but Minho doesn’t seem to be concerned at all. Nothing stops him from adding tongue to the kiss and pulling Chan even closer.

Chan breaks for only a second to look down, his hard length straining in his dress pants.

Maybe it’s a bad idea to fool around in their stage outfits right before a performance.

His eyes wander to Minho’s legs in front of him, the leather wonderfully hugging his thighs and Chan is only a bit surprised to find him in the same condition.

And then Minho’s hands find the buttons of his black satin shirt, already partially unbuttoned per the stylists’ decision, but Minho is clearly yearning to see more as he works to untuck it from his waistband, unclasping down to the very last one until the satin is practically hanging from his shoulders.

“There,” Minho says quietly, running a warm hand up his chest, “you don’t feel so suffocated now, right?”

But that’s not how he wants to feel. He wants to be suffocated, feel Minho’s presence surrounding him and kiss him hard until he can’t breathe anymore.

“Channie-ah.”

Chan looks up from where his hands are now brushing across his nipples. Minho’s eyes are twinkling, the pink-red eyeshadow at the corners further accentuating the shape, his lips still red even though it isn’t from the lipstick anymore.

“Let me know what else I can do.”

That’s when Chan breaks, flipping Minho around and pressing him against the sink, the latter letting out a gasp as Chan grinds his erection against the swell of his ass.

There’s no reason why he should’ve allowed a  _ shirt  _ to get him riled up like this, but it’s too late now, and the look Minho is giving him in the mirror makes it apparent he’s enjoying it a little more than he should.

It’s so risky. Chan likes risk but… not like this.

Minho moans a little when Chan traces a finger down his back.

_ Definitely not like this. _

But he can’t stop himself anymore—can’t stop Minho when he’s suddenly undoing his belt and zipper. And he proceeds to do the same.

“You know I would—” Minho swallows, bare and cold as Chan pulls down his briefs, “—I would suck you off if we had the time.”

Chan feels his cock twitch at that, wincing at the thought of Minho going down on him and fitting his length in his pretty mouth…

“I get headaches pretty often, you know,” Chan lies.

That gets a smirk from Minho. “Guess I need to look after you more.”

_ Fuck. _ Minho looks so good, elbows on the sink and ass out waiting for him, and Chan is halfway about to lose his mind when his cock connects with his skin.

No way this is real. No way he’s about to really fuck Minho the way he’s been trying to distract himself from for the last hour.

“Don’t worry about— _ Hngh— _ don’t worry about stretching me I already fucked myself last night, just please—”

He startles at the feeling of Chan’s spit landing on him, Chan slowly spreading the makeshift lubricant all around his rim. “Did you now?”

“I don’t need to explain myself,” Minho retorts. “Just fuck me.”

“Sounds like you need it more than I do,” Chan giggles, but Minho’s hissing air through his teeth at the sensation of Chan pressing himself into him.

Regardless of what Minho said, he’s still kind of tight, though it doesn’t warrant any pained sounds from the younger.

“Let me know if I’m hurting you,” Chan murmurs.

He eases his cock further into the man, and Minho vigorously shakes his head. “It doesn’t hurt, hyung, go deeper. I need you to… I need you to feel better before we go on...”

Slowly, Chan heeds to his pleas until he’s fully bottomed out, his face flushed and chest already rising and falling in time with the feeling pooling in his gut, urging his body to chase release.

He dribbles some more saliva across both of them, and he watches Minho’s face closely as he pulls out of him before fucking into him again.

His lips part in a loud, pretty moan, but it’s pure instinct that makes Chan reach up to clamp a hand over his mouth and drown out the rest of it. He doesn’t tell Minho to be quiet, he  _ knows  _ he needs to be, but Chan doesn’t think he cares when he just keeps moaning into his hand.

Chan grits his teeth at the cruel way Minho clenches around him, watching Minho’s eyebrows knit together while struggling to keep his eyes open. When their gazes meet, Minho takes the opportunity to lick his hand just to get a reaction out of him, and Chan responds by thrusting into him hard.

He wishes they were somewhere else. He wishes they were alone in the dorm, or rooming together in a hotel room where they could take their time and ravish each other all they want. He wishes he could bury his fingers in his hair and not have to worry about ruining it. They don’t have that luxury. But somehow, knowing that they’re doing this at possibly the worst time imaginable, makes everything feel lighter. Like it’s a dream, though the last thing Chan wants is for this to not be real.

He decides to escalate it a bit more, and with the moisture collected at his hand, reaches down to Minho’s neglected cock, stroking it and watching Minho’s face contort some more. His back arches in pleasure, the mesh doing little to hide how slick his skin is getting from sweat.

Now that there’s no barrier to stop the noises, small choked sounds are all that come out of Minho, breaths heavy and relentless as Chan is working him on both ends. Though he came to him under the guise of helping him, Chan finds it more fulfilling to have Minho feeling this way because of him. With his free hand, he finally touches his back under his shirt, and it isn’t long before Minho is trembling and bringing both his hands to stop the whimpers breaking through.

“Ch-Chan, I can’t hold it in…”

It’s beginning to get too much for him, too, but at this point, the sooner the better. He uses all the force possible without hurting Minho, plunging into him repeatedly, and Minho’s eyes look crazed in their reflection, tears threatening to spill over but ultimately hunching over the sink as he fights to keep himself upright.

“I can’t make a mess here,” Minho sobs. So Chan does the first thing he can think of—he cups his other hand around Minho’s tip and whispers, “Do it.”

And he feels the hot release all over his fingers as he continues to stroke his cock, throbbing and entire body convulsing unnaturally as he cums, his own hands doing little to muffle the moan that arises. Chan goes a bit insane over the way he’s clenching around him, so tightly he has to slow down to a halt.

“F-fuck,” he groans, finally slumping over as Chan turns on the faucet to wash off the seed, but Minho stops him, leaning forward to lick it clean himself.

_ Holy shit. _

He’s running a tongue across his lips, looking at Chan with glazed eyes as he asks, “Have you…?” Chan shakes his head. “Keep going.”

“What? But you—”

“Keep. Going.”

And his face scrunches again, this time from the grueling overstimulation as he allows Chan to be selfish for a change, chest compressing and pursuing the pleasure until he’s reaching for the paper towel dispenser just an arm away, spilling into it after he’s pulled out of Minho.

“Asshole,” Minho complains. “Why didn’t you let me know? I would’ve eaten that too.”

And it’s still too much. Even once he’s thrown out that stupid wad of paper and they’ve pulled their pants back up, it’s still too much to have Minho this close.

So he kisses him again, faintly tasting the bitterness of the release he just swallowed but overall too distracted to care, because it’s everything else about the way his lips move against his that drives him mad.

“Did that help?” Minho asks, coming full circle to refer to the headache that never existed to begin with.

Chan doesn’t say yes or no—all he can muster is a “Thank you” before he goes back to kiss him another time.

Even with the limited time they have left in here, all Chan wants is to stay a little longer, but it’s Minho who coaxes him out of it.

He still looks so perfect somehow, when just a moment ago he looked fucked out beyond oblivion. Every last strand of hair is still in place, and his makeup is still put together, aside from his lips devoid of the artificial color.

When Chan buttoned his shirt back up, he left the top two unbuttoned. However, Minho unbuttons a third and says, “Keep it like this.”

Then they walk back to the waiting rooms together, Chan with a water bottle he chugged down half of to make it more convincing that he really did take those painkillers.

When Minho goes up to the stylists to get his makeup touched up, he doesn’t need to say anything as an excuse. It didn’t occur to Chan that they usually eat and end up with half of it wiped off anyway.

When it’s his turn to sit in the makeup chair, it’s like he can feel Minho’s eyes boring into his head. Then he peeks at the mirror, the man is staring at him from the couch, and he recalls himself in that same position.

So this is how it feels.

None of the other members seemed too concerned when he returned besides Felix, who forces Chan to eat apple slices while he’s getting his hair done to get his energy up. The performance is in half an hour, and no one on the team is allowed to do less than their best.

He wonders how Minho will be able to manage, but he’s always been pretty resilient…

Time flies too quickly, and before he knows it, their names are being called to head over to the stage.

The stylists scramble to get their last minute touch-ups in, and when one of them tries to close the third button, Chan shakes his head. “I’m keeping it this way.”

They all walk out in a line, and he’s stuck behind Minho, the see-through shirt taunting him before the stage lights practically blind him, and his heart is racing all over again for all the wrong reasons.

**Author's Note:**

> i may be slowly becoming a minchaner...
> 
> tysm for reading and i hope u enjoyed!
> 
> kudos and comments always appreciated~


End file.
